Munnery begins by introducing himself as the maitre d’ full of strange rhymes and witticisms. The bare white room that supports this conceptual meal feels more like a psych ward than a restaurant. Turning a giant mustache into a pencil thin one (literally a pencil), he then becomes a French waiter, there to amuse and abuse. In this non-dining restaurant, he is also the sous chef in training and the Australian head chef, with jokes and hilarious costume changes to boot.

He presents a three-course extravaganza of delight. His absurdist satire on the superfluity of the high class dining experience gives any fringe comedian a run for their money. The menu items have descriptions up to three printed lines long, worthy of any four star restaurant that upon delivery ambush with the unexpected. Any description beyond that gives away the punch line, or rather, the many punchlines. Munnery serves up his whizzing wit on a decorative cardboard platter that speeds by so quickly, there might be a head shake or two to gather your own.

This is not a time to be bashful either. There is only eight to a table and only one table to be served. You’re bound to end up as the center of attention at some point. But don’t let it put you off, it truly it a wondrous experience for the humour palette. My only complaint is that I was hungry for more.